


Strange Animals

by Manuscriptor



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: ACAB, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Child Murder, Gen, also i did my best with the fnaf lore but that shit is confusing as hell, fuck em, including fbi agents, murder investigation, they investigate the original child murders of fnaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27782950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manuscriptor/pseuds/Manuscriptor
Summary: “We’re looking for a white male, in his late thirties,” Hotch started. “He’s lost his job at some point, most likely recently, probably because customers were complaining about his behavior, and we think he’s lashing out because of that job-loss.”“He used to work at the local pizzeria,” Morgan said. “He’s using a mascot suit in order to gain kids’ trust and lead them away from the group. With all of the birthday parties and general foot traffic, he’s counting on the chaos to keep everyone distracted while he does his dirty work.”“He’s been targeting kids from different age ranges, across genders, from all sorts of backgrounds,” JJ said next. “This shows that he doesn’t really care who he’s killing, only that he wants to kill.”
Kudos: 21





	Strange Animals

**Author's Note:**

> “I learned in high school, if I hold up an effigy, a mask, or a lie, that mask will get all the love, not me.”  
> \- Lynn Breedlove

“I thought Saturday was supposed to be our day off,” JJ said, accepting the coffee that Garcia offered her. She had a cardboard carrier that had to-go cups for all of them. 

“Tell me about it,” Morgan said, accepting his coffee next. “Bad guys just don’t take a break, I guess.” 

“Statistically, most crime happens on Fridays, specifically at night,” Reid said, taking his usual spot at the table next to Morgan. “With sixty-five percent of murder or negligent manslaughter happening at night. So realistically, depending on when it’s reported, criminals are _most_ active on Saturdays.” 

The rest of the team was settling around the table now, all flipping open their tablets and files to start reading through the reports. It wasn’t completely odd that they were called in on a Saturday, but it was still disappointing to lose a day off.

“What are the statistics for kidnappings?” Garcia said. She finished passing around the coffee and then clicked on the slide. “Because we have three missing kids and I really don’t want to think that they were all killed so pretty please prove me wrong.” 

“So we don’t even know if it’s manslaughter?” JJ asked, looking around the table in confusion. “We don’t typically cover cases like this.”

“There’s another reason why we’re being called in,” Hotch said. He motioned for Garcia to continue, and she nodded. 

“We’ve got missing kids,” she said, clicking through the first slide and pictures. “Three, to be exact.”

“I’m guessing they disappeared under mysterious circumstances?” Rossi asked. 

Garcia just laughed nervously and fixed her glasses. “Of course. Why else would we be getting called in, sir?” 

She clicked to the next slides, showing family pictures that had obviously been taken from social media. One was a family of a single mom. She was sitting on a picnic blanket and had taken the picture herself with an outstretched arm. She had obviously struggled to include all three of the kids that were sitting with her. The picture had also been cropped down to just include the little blonde girl with a gap-toothed smile.

“Meet Cassidy Shepphard,” she said. “First of the three. Her single mom works two different jobs—fast food and gas station—to support her and her siblings. She was reported missing three days ago after a family birthday party.”

“Three days ago?” Reid said, frowning. “Why is there such a huge gap of time? Missing children are typically reported within _hours_ of when they first disappear.” 

Garcia nodded. “That they are, boy wonder, but the local police were suddenly busy when the Higgs reported their own missing child.” 

She clicked to the next slide. This family picture was much more formal and had obviously been taken professionally. Two older men dressed in suits were standing in front of a christmas tree, both of their arms lovingly draped around a younger boy who was beaming proudly as he cradled a puppy in his arms. 

“Gabriel Higgs,” Garcia said. “Was reported missing _two_ days ago.” 

Reid opened his mouth to comment, but Garcia cut him off, holding up a finger as she clicked to the next slide. This one showed a father on the beach with two kids. Another version of the picture was cropped down to just the young boy, laughing as his father tossed him up into the waves, along with a more formal school photo.

“And finally, Jeremy Benson,” she said. “Reported missing one day ago.” 

“Only a day in between abductions,” Rossi said with a grimace. “That’s a short cooling off period.” 

“And we don’t know what he’s doing with these kids,” Morgan said. “That’s dangerous.” 

“I agree,” Hotch said. He closed his file and stood, pushing his chair back. “Which means we need to get a profile together as fast as possible. Wheels up in thirty.” 

The team all stood and began gathering their files and bags. They would meet on the plane, flying to Florida where the case was taking place. Garcia would stay in her office, running a sort of headquarters and getting them as much information as she could. 

“It doesn’t look like the unsub has a type, outside of maybe age,” JJ said once the plane had settled into its flight pattern and they could unbuckle their seat belts. They were all looking over the files again, gathered around with fresh cups of coffee. 

“Yeah, Cassidy was white, blonde-haired blue-eyed, seven years old, and lower class. Her mom describes her as curious, outgoing, and extroverted—more than willing to talk to strangers,” Morgan said, reading from his notes. “And Gabriel is middle class—his dads describe him as studious, quiet, but always happy to lend a helping hand. He was also seven years old.” 

“That could be how the unsub is luring them away,” Reid said. “Seven is an extremely formative year. Children this age typically start playing by themselves rather than in a group but are still very curious about the world around them. If the unsub was able to separate them from a group, he could offer them a new toy or something else that might catch their attention.” 

“That works with Gabriel and Cassidy,” JJ said, flipping through the pages. “But what about Jeremy?” 

Morgan made a sound in his throat, like he was deep in thought. “Twelve, unlike the other two, and apparently just starting his rebellious streak if his dad’s posts on social media are anything to go by.” 

Garcia popped up on the open computer just then, catching the last half of the conversation but nodding anyway. “I never understood why parents always ranted about their kids online,” she said with an exaggerated shudder. “It seems so cruel to me.” 

JJ nodded in agreement. “Any parenting class or book will tell you how damaging it is,” she said. 

“We can’t all be as nice as you, baby girl,” Morgan said. “You aren’t calling just to give us your two cents on parenting though, are you?” 

Garcia perked up, as if she just remembered why she was calling. She began typing at her laptop faster than even Reid could manage as she began talking. 

“Indeed I am not,” she said. “I really wish I had good news for you all, but our child-loving criminal doesn’t seem to be slowing down anytime soon.” 

Hotch looked up from his tablet, frowning. “Don’t tell me.” 

Garcia was already nodding. “Another child missing,” she said. “I’ve already sent the files to your tablets but there isn’t that much information as of right now. We have an ID and that’s about it.” 

“Do we know how old this one is?” Reid asked. 

“Right in the middle,” JJ said, the first to answer as she read off her screen. Fritz Rodgers, ten years old. Also white and middle class. That might be something to look into.” 

“Children ages ten through thirteen are all in the developmental stages of becoming independent from their parents,” Reid said. “The unsub could be using that as a way to get them away from their parents and to a spot that's private enough to grab them.” 

“And a kid that’s seven years old is still pretty trusting,” Morgan said. “They might not know enough to say no if a stranger offers them a treat or tells them that their parents are in danger and they need to come right away.” 

Hotch’s mouth was set in a hard line. “We need to be ready for anything when we land,” he said. “These families are probably panicking and need any reassurance we can give them. Rossie and I will go to the station and start the family interviews. See if we have anything that connects them and possible subjects.” 

Rossi nodded. 

“Reid and Morgan, start a geographic profile,” Hotch went on. “We need to identify a comfort zone as quickly as possible if we want to prevent any other children from going missing.” 

Morgan and Reid nodded. 

“JJ, I need you to start working with the media immediately,” Hotch said. “The mass panic that is induced when you have multiple missing minors needs to be controlled as much as possible. We need to communicate that we have things under control as much as we can and are following every lead possible.” 

JJ nodded. 

“And I’ll keep you all up to date if I get any more reports,” Garcia chimed in from the computer. “See you all on the ground.” She tapped her keyboard with the end of the pen she was holding and her screen went dark. 

********

“So, do you think we’re looking for a group or not?” Morgan asked. 

He and Reid had been set up in a spare room at the local police station, and Reid already had a full map of the area marked with the family’s homes. The end of a marker was between his teeth as he studied it on a whole, while Morgan was sitting at the desk, flipping through the small files that they had been given. There still wasn’t a lot of evidence, only the fact that four kids had all gone missing in the span of four days. 

“I’m not sure,” Reid said. “With the amount of victims, I want to say that we are, but with so little evidence, we can’t really say for sure or not.” 

Morgan sat back in his seat, spinning a pen through his fingers. “Well, let’s say we are. That makes the comfort zone a lot larger then, right? We’d have to make sure we canvas multiple neighborhoods. Maybe even counties.” 

Reid pulled the marker from his mouth and uncapped it, marking spots on the map. “But look at this,” he said. “Gabriel, Jeremy, and Fritz are both from the same gated community, though they didn’t live close to each other. Cassidy and Jeremy were both lower class, but they did attend the same school.” 

He turned to Morgan, starting to pace as he thought. 

“The unsub is obviously linking them somehow. Rossi and Hotch will have to see if the families knew each other. Maybe they attended a school event. Or went to the same fundraiser.” 

“They’re interviewing the families now,” Morgan said. “I’d say half an hour and then we’ll have an answer.” 

Rossi and Hotch were just a couple doors down from them. They had the families separated as much as they could, but with four families, the station was starting to get a bit crowded. They were sitting with the Higgs at the moment, trying to console the two men the best they could. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Matt, the older of the two with grey starting to streak through his hair and beard. “Please tell me you know which _sick_ _freak_ stole our son.” 

“Please calm down,” Hotch said, gesturing to the seat next to Matt’s husband. “We need to ask you some questions if we have a chance at finding your son.” 

“That’s right, dear,” Travis, a slightly younger but no less aged man with crow’s feet around his eyes and now worry lines around his mouth, said, offering a hand that Matt took gratefully. He pulled his husband down into his chair and clasped their hands tightly together. “We need to give them as much information as we can, understand?” 

Matt just put his other hand on top of Travis’s and looked to Hotch and Rossi. “What do you need to know?” 

Rossi flipped his case file open and spread out all of the pictures of the missing kids and families. “We’ve got more than one missing kid,” he said. 

“And you think it was all the same guy?” Matt said, cutting Rossi off before he could say anything else. “What sick fuck would do this? What is it, four kids?” His eyes were already red from crying, but he rubbed at them again briefly before burying his face into Travis’s shoulder, sobbing once before falling silent.

Travis cradled him as much as he could, looking over the pictures. “Um, these are the families?” he asked quietly. 

Aaron nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Right now we’re trying to figure out how the unsub knew all of the children. Do you recognize anyone here?” 

Travis chewed his lip as he looked over the photos. After a long moment, he pointed to the Bensons and the Rogers. 

“Them,” he said and frowned. “I . . . I think I recognize them. They might have gone to the same homeowner’s association meetings. Um, our development has them every couple months and most of the families living in the neighborhood attend them.” 

Matt had looked up again, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face as he looked over the photos that Travis had picked out. He cleared his throat roughly and nodded. “Yeah, I definitely recognize them,” he said. “The Benson’s wanted to change some regulations about drainage.” He shrugged. “Something about a pool, but the developers said they were too low and it would cause flooding.” 

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a subtle look. 

“Thank you so much,” Hotch said, gathering the pictures and closing the file. “We need to talk to the other families. It would be best if you stayed here, but I understand if you want to get home.” 

“Anything to help our boy,” Travis said, and Matt nodded in agreement. 

Hotch and Rossi left the room, already heading towards the next interviewing room. They paused at the door though, with Rossi’s hand on the knob. 

“What do you think?” he said. “Would a developer get angry enough at a resident to kidnap a kid as revenge?” 

“Maybe not a developer,” Hotch said. “But someone environmentally conscious. If the Bensons wanted to do some renovations that threatened the surrounding area, then someone who’s already angry at the development might be angry enough to lash out.” 

“I guess we’d better talk to the other families,” Rossi said and opened the door. 

The Bensons, including a tired dad and a seemingly workaholic mom, pulled the Higgs as well, as soon as Rossi spread out the photos. They had similar stories about vaguely remembering them from the homeowner’s association meetings. They had nothing bad to say about them either, Mr. Benson going so far as to compliment Matt on the deserts and hors d’oeuvres that he brought.

“Gabe?” the youngest Benson daughter asked. She had to be around Gabriel’s age and had been sitting in her father’s arms as he paced back and forth for most of the interview. She had peaked out from between her fingers when Hotch had mentioned Gabriel by name. 

“Yes,” Hotch said, pulling out a picture of Gabriel and offering it to her. “Do . . . do you know him?” 

She hid her face again, but her father coaxed her out of hiding. “Maddy, if you know something, you have to tell the police,” he said softly. 

“He’s in my class,” Maddy said quietly. “At school.” 

“Do you play with Gabe?” Hotch asked. 

Maddy nodded eagerly, slowly coming out of her shell. “We’re best friends,” she said proudly. 

Hotch nodded, keeping his voice soft as he spoke to her. “Well, Maddy,” he said. “Gabe is missing, and we don’t know what happened to him. Someone might have taken him. Do you remember Gabe ever talking with someone who was a stranger? Someone you didn’t know?” 

Maddy chewed her lip for a moment, clinging even tighter to his dad’s shirt. She looked nervous for a moment, looking between her parents before taking a deep breath. 

“He was talking with the animal,” she whispered. “At the party.” 

“Animal?” Hotchner repeated softly. “Maddy, what party?”

“The strange bear,” she said. “At the party—”

The man swept the girl up again, hugging her close to his chest protectively. “I am not going to let my daughter talk about a killer,” he said. “Maria, tell them.” 

The wife, Maria, finally spoke up, placing her palms flat on the table as she leaned forward. “I have lawyers,” she said. “That you can talk to. I’m not going to force my daughter to realize a traumatic experience. The interview is over.” 

Hotch set his mouth in a hard line, and Rossi was respectful enough not to say anything. 

“I understand,” he said. He nodded to Maddy. “Thank you for your time.” 

As soon as they were out of the room, Rossi grabbed his arm, stopping him from walking to the next interviewee room. “That kid knows something,” he said. 

Hotch shook his head. “I’m not going to press a child for information,” he said. “I’ll have Garcia look into it. We need to move onto the next family.” 

*** 

Reid was still analyzing the map of the area when his phone buzzed with Garcia’s name popped up in the caller ID. He set it to ‘speaker’ without thinking, setting it on the table between himself and Morgan. 

“Please tell me you have a lead, baby girl,” Morgan said. 

“I do!” Garcia said proudly. “At least . . . a small lead. But I’m calling to see what you can help me with.” 

Morgan leaned forward in his said, propping his chin on his hands. “Anything you need.” 

“Hotch said one of the kids in the family mentioned a party,” Garcia said. Her typing carried through the speaker too. “So, I was thinking to myself, what kind of party does a kid love the most?” 

“Birthday?” Morgan offered. 

“Exact-a-mundo,” Garcia said triumphantly. “So Hotch has the great idea to look into party venues but with a city like this, there are literally hundreds to thousands. So I’m hoping you have some way to narrow it down for me.” 

“Start with venues that appeal to younger children,” Reid said. “All of the missing children are younger than teenagers, so if it is a party venue, a parent would want somewhere that’s bright and colorful and has a lot of activities to occupy the party-goers.” 

Garcia was typing as soon as he started talking. “This helps a lot,” she said. “Keep it coming.” 

“What about our geography?” Morgan offered. “Right now we have middle and lower class victims that don’t look like they intersect, but both neighborhoods have to be within the same access of a party venue.” 

“Agreed,” Reid said. “Garcia, you can narrow your search down.” He rattled off the neighborhoods and street names. 

There was a moment where Garcia just typed and then she clapped suddenly. “I’ve got something!” she said. “I’ve got three locations: a pizzaria, a petting zoo, and arcade-bounce-house type deal.” 

“We need to tell Hotch—” Morgan started. 

“Done and done,” Garcia said. “I’ve already sent the addresses to your phones.” 

The entire team met up in the lobby of the station, already heading outside to their cruisers. Hotch was in the lead. He had Garcia on the line still, keeping her up to date as they figured out more and more clues. 

“Rossi and Reid, you take the pizzaria,” he said. “JJ and Morgan, the petting zoo. I’ll head to the arcade. Focus on mascots. Maddy mentioned Gabriel talking to a strange animal and then she specified a bear—” 

“Sir!” Garcia said, cutting him off. “Why didn’t you tell me that? I have websites of the businesses up right now, and I can tell you that only one of them has a bear mascot. In fact, only one of them has mascots _at all._ ” 

They all paused in the parking lot, looking at each other. 

“Well, don’t leave us hanging, baby girl,” Morgan said. 

“The pizzaria of course,” Garcia said. “Come on, I thought that was a given.” 

Hotch nodded. “Then we’ll all head there,” he said. “Thanks, Garcia.” 

“Anytime!”

***** 

The pizzeria wasn’t that impressed, not really. It looked very much run-of-the-mill with 90s style carpeting, flashing arcade games, and even a prize corner to exchange tickets and tokens. It was open but mostly empty, but it was also pretty early in the day. Business would pick up later in the evening, when more parties were scheduled and parents dumped their kids off after school to keep them entertained. 

And, of course, there was a stage on the very far side of the restaurant with the mascots set up. They were in the middle of miming their way through a song, each at different instruments with one at a mic. It was some pop hit made to appeal to kids. 

The team was meeting with the manager on duty, a woman who looked too tired to actually care about her job that much. Her curly hair was fizzy and pulled into a barely controlled bun. She had a clipboard and a pen, like she had grabbed it randomly when she heard that they were coming.

Morgan gestured in the vague direction of the stage. “Can I?” he asked, waiting until the woman gave him a tired nod of approval before walking off. 

Hotch nodded to Reid. “You and JJ go too,” he said. “Rossi and I will talk with Ms. Kyles.” 

The team split up again, as JJ and Reid walked off to join Morgan and Ms. Kyles motioned for Rossi and Hotch towards a small sitting area near the entrance that was probably normally reserved for tired parents. 

Morgan was already at the stage by the time JJ and Reid reached his side, looking up at the animals but being careful not to touch.

It looked like the main cast of the franchise. At the microphone was a friendly-looking brown bear wearing a top hat and a bowtie. However, it looked like another character was also a singer—a yellow chicken who also held a microphone. A purple rabbit held a guitar, and there was a red fox at a keyboard. As far as franchise mascots went, they looked pretty standard, the usual big eyes and overly-happy expressions to appeal to kids as well as the perfect amount of emotion to not make them look too realistic. 

“I remember having parties at a place like this,” Morgan said when he realized he wasn’t alone. He laughed. “Me and my friends _loved_ playing the arcade games, but I don’t think we ever got enough tickets for prizes.” 

JJ nodded. “I’ve taken Henry a few times,” she said. “He loves characters like these.” 

“Maddy said something about a strange animal,” Reid said, looking between the robots. “Do you think the company has any other characters that aren’t as well-known as these four? Maybe she just didn’t recognize it because it didn’t perform with the others?” 

Morgan waved down a passing worker, a bored looking high schooler carrying a pizza steaming fresh from the oven. He flashed his badge to her, and she looked between them all, only slightly more invested in the situation. Her name tag read Pennie, and a few smiley faces had been added in permanent marker. 

“Are there any other robots?” Morgan asked, gesturing at the stage behind him. 

Pennie chewed her lip, biting at the piercing that was looped through the skin and finally nodded. “Yeah, we’ve got a few in back,” she said. “They're supposed to be retired though. They aren’t used and they haven’t been powered up in, like, _ages_.” 

“Could we see them?” Reid asked. 

Pennie looked down at the pizza she was holding and then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. If you’re FBI. Let me deliver this, and then I’ll take you back.” 

It only took Pennie a few minutes before she returned, no longer carrying the pizza. She held a card instead, some sort of ID attached to a lanyard that had the franchise’s logo printed all over it. She motioned for them to follow her as she walked to a door labelled “Staff Only” and unlocked it with a swipe. 

A short hallway extended back, leading to several different rooms. One was set up as a breakroom, with tables and chairs, a vending and soda machine, and a small area to heat and prepare food. Another was a set of gender neutral bathrooms. The final room, Pennie had to unlock with the card again. She clicked on the light and then stepped aside to let them through. 

“It’s a lot of odds and ends,” she said. “Um, we don’t really keep it organized. The manager always says it needs to be done, but . . . well, when you’re paid minimum wage, not everything gets done.” 

The storage area was lined with metal bookcases, most of which were stacked full of taped-together cardboard boxes. A lot of it looked like food that didn’t need to be refrigerated. All the way at the back, hanging in metal lockers that had lost their doors at some point, were the suits that Pennie was talking about.

There were three of them, all copies of the animals that were already onstage. 

Morgan grabbed one to pull it out, and then stopped halfway. 

“These aren’t robots,” he said. It wasn’t really a question, but Pennie nodded anyway. 

“Yeah, of course not,” she said. She was still leaning against the doorway, not joining them inside the storage area. “The ones on stage are removable. They’re made that way so someone can wear them. And the frames can be used for multiple characters.” 

“So they could move off stage and interact with the children,” Reid said, putting two and two together. “That’s kind of ingenious. The mascots will look the same on and off stage, and outside of movement, they will be the exact same. Children would love that.” 

“Maddy mentioned a strange animal though,” Morgan said. “All of these suits are just the ones on the stage.” 

Pennie nodded with a noncommittal shrug. “I guess,” she said. “Look, we have certain staff that work with the suits. I don’t know that much, I just serve food.” 

“Is there anyone here right now who does work with the suits?” Reid asked. 

Pennie thought for a moment, working her lip ring even more nervously. “Yeah,” she said finally. “Um, Vesta is in the breakroom. Follow me.” 

Pennie led the way out of the storage room and back down the hallway, showing them to the breakroom. A black teen was sitting in one of the chairs, heavy boots propped up on the table as they ate a bag of chips and watched something on their phone. A wooden cane that looked hand-carved was leaning next to them. They didn’t wear a work uniform like Pennie, instead wearing a white tank top and black shorts adorned with chains and patches and pins. 

They looked up disinterestedly when Pennie walked in and then almost fell out of their chair sitting upright when they saw JJ, Reid, and Morgan. They yanked their headphones out, popped their fingers into their mouth to lick clean, and fumbled to get their phone into their pocket. 

“Who are they?” Vesta asked Pennie, jerking their chin at the agents. 

Pennie looked more nervous than ever. “ _FBI_ ,” she said with clenched teeth. 

Vesta crossed their arms over their chest and didn’t stand. “What do you want?” 

Reid and Morgan and JJ all exchanged a look, and Vesta twisted their leg enough to show off a huge patch that had been embroidered on the hip of the shorts. ACAB. Right next to it were several pins that all proudly declared Vesta’s pronouns as they/them. 

“Hey, we aren’t here for you,” Morgan said, taking the lead as he stepped forward. “We just had a couple questions about the suits.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “In the storage room. Pennie said you work with them?” He looked between the two workers, looking for an answer to his question. 

“Yeah, I work with the suits,” Vesta said, still wary and defiant. “I dress up and work the floor when there’s a party of kids.” 

Reid stepped forward then. “Vesta, my name is Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re just investigating some missing children, and we got a tip that one of the missing children was talking to a ‘strange animal’ at a party they attended. All the suits in the storage area match the animals on stage, and we just had a couple questions.” 

Vesta kept their arms firmly crossed. “Am I being detained?” they asked. 

“Well, no—” Reid said. 

“Am I under arrest?” Vesta asked before he could continue. 

“No, but—” 

“Then I would rather not talk to you,” they said. They picked up their cane and stood up straight, keeping their shoulders back as they walked out of the room without another word. 

“Do you think they know anything?” JJ asked softly. 

Morgan shrugged. “Part of me says yes, but they might just be an activist.” 

“You can’t arrest them without probable cause,” Pennie blurted. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides but she was nervously chewing her lip right. “Right? They didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“No, of course we won’t arrest them,” JJ said quickly. “Yes, it would be helpful to have someone answer our questions, but if Vesta doesn’t want to talk to us, we aren’t going to take them in for questioning.” 

“Good,” Pennie said. “Um, the keycard unlocks the doors. I have to go.” She set the lanyard down on a table and hurried out of the room before any of them could say anything. 

“I’m going to look around the storage area again,” Morgan said. “See if we missed anything.” 

“I’ll see if any other workers are willing to talk,” JJ said. 

“I’ll come with you then,” Reid said. “I want to look at the robots that are on-stage. Pennie made it sound like the suits could be removed from the metal frames and I want to look into that.” 

They split up then, Morgan taking the keycard with him as he headed back to the storage area while JJ and Reid headed back down the hall towards the main area of the restaurant. As soon as they stepped out onto the main floor, JJ flagged down a worker to ask them questions. Reid, on the other hand, headed back towards the direction of the stage, eager to get an up close view of just how the robots operated. 

They were resting in between songs when he got to the stage, going through the motions of rotating back and forth, blinking, moving their arms, and smiling. 

If the suits were removable, they were nearly immaculately designed since they covered almost all of the metal and wires without any gaps. At the joints, of course, Reid could occasionally see the flash of wires, and whenever the mouth opened all the way, he could see the metal insides. 

“You’re not police, are you?” 

Reid turned, caught off guard for only a moment before he spotted Vesta standing off to the side of the stage. They were leaning heavily on their cane but didn’t look weak or unstable in the slightest. 

“Um, no, not technically,” Reid said. “I’m not even considered an agent, although I am provided a badge. The FBI are distinctly different from the typical police force, although we do tend to work side-by-side.” 

Vesta shook their head. “That’s not what I’m talking about,” they said. They tapped their hip, over the ACAB patch, as if on reflex, like it was a self-soothing gesture. “You realize that the institution that you work with is entirely corrupt and perpetuates stereotypes of minorities and demonizes those with disabilities and mental illnesses?” 

Reid frowned. “We help a lot of people,” he said. “I mean, it is true that roughly fifty-nine percent of homicides don’t typically result in an arrest but—” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Vesta said, cutting him off. “I’m sure you stop a ton of murders and save a ton of lives.” They said it like they didn’t believe it. “But the system itself is corrupt, and as long as you work within it, you contribute to the oppression and killing of all minorities.” 

Reid had never thought of it that way. “Well,” he said carefully. “Right now we’re trying to help the families of five missing children. If we’re lucky, we might be able to find them and bring them back alive. Or, we can stop whoever is doing this and prevent even more children from going missing. I understand that that doesn’t do that much in the grand scheme of things, but if I can change the world a little at a time, for the better, then . . . . that’s what I want to do.” 

Vesta rolled their eyes. “That’s a sob story I’ve heard before,” they said and then they sighed. “Look, last month, one of the retired suits went missing. We never use it anymore, and the managers didn’t want to deal with HR coming in billing the place for stolen or missing property. Because it wasn’t used anymore, kids probably haven’t seen it in a while. . . . That could be your strange animal.” 

Reid broke into a wide smile, already pulling out his phone to call Garcia. “That helps a ton, Vesta,” he said. “You have no idea.” 

“I have some idea,” Vesta said with a snort.

******* 

“Garcia, we need you to check the employee history of that pizzeria,” Hotch said, now back at the police station. 

The rest of the team was out canvassing the area, interviewing the neighbors of the victims. With so many families affected, there were tons of people that needed to be talked to. 

“Of course I can, sir, who do you think I am?” Garcia said. She was already typing on her keyboard. “How far back do you want me to go? Anything to narrow it down? Come on, you know by now that I need specifics.” 

“Go back a couple months,” Hotch said. “Look for people that were fired because customers complained. The unsub would have been too friendly with families and parents probably wouldn’t have noticed. Anyone who had complaints on their record before they were let go.” 

“Of course, sir,” Garcia said, typing even faster now. “And I really hope that you know that I am looking as hard as I can, so when I say that there is . . . .” She paused for a moment, double checking her results. “Nothing, nada, no results for those parameters, I mean it in the absolutely best way possible.” 

Hotch pressed his mouth into a grim smile, looking over their maps and the files all spread out so that they could work. All of the clues and Garcia had nothing. He should have known better than to think that everything would come together that easily.

“I’ll let the team know,” he said. “It’s getting late. We’ll all get a night’s rest and come back to it all tomorrow.” 

“Roger that,” Garcia said. “And I will continue looking.” 

She hung up, and Hotch was left to text everyone else. They would finish up their interviews and then head back to the hotel where they had rooms booked. A good night’s sleep and a hot meal would do them all good. Besides, sometimes only fresh eyes spotted the connection between clues. 

********

The night of rest didn’t really go as Hotch planned at all. 

He was woken early in the morning—far earlier than he intended—with his phone ringing loudly. He never had his phone on silent while on a case, not wanting to miss anything important, so Hotch rolled over in his bed, still half asleep as he yanked his phone off of its charging cord and swiped it open, putting it against his ear.

“Hello?” he mumbled, rubbing his face to wake himself up as fast as possible. 

“We found a body,” the person on the other end said. Hotch didn’t recognize the voice and they certainly didn’t introduce themselves. “At the pizzeria. You and your team should get here as quickly as possible.” 

Hotch didn’t even question it, already throwing aside his blankets and jumping out of bed. 

It took only a couple texts and less than ten minutes later before the entire team was all gathered in the lobby and heading out the front doors. They were all bleary-eyed and not very put together, most were wearing rumpled clothes that they had just managed to pull on or coats over their sleep shirts. 

Just as they stepped out of the doors, a car pulled up and a frazzled delivery boy jumped out, holding a cardboard keg that was clearly labelled as coffee and a plastic bag of cups and sugar and single-serve creamers. He looked as tired as they did with bags under his eyes and hair wild as he looked them over. He was slightly out of breath.

“I have an order for Penelope Garcia?” he said, his voice squeaking up to make it a question. “Coffee? I don’t know, I was just told I needed to hurry.” 

The team all shared a smile. 

“I should have known,” JJ said with a smile, stepping forward to take the order from the boy. 

Reid pulled out his wallet and tipped the boy extra, sleepily mumbling something about wage statistics and how underpaid delivery people were. He and Morgan thanked the boy excessively before he finally managed to slip away and climb back into the car. 

They took a minute to make sure everyone got a cup of coffee, texted Garcia their thanks, and then all climbed into their cars. It was only a short drive to the pizzeria, and the entire place was lit up with flashing police lights and buzzed with the activity of dozens of officers. 

The drive to the pizzeria was tense and quiet, in every car. No one wanted to talk about what they were going to see once they actually arrived. A dead body. Would it be a child? One that they were looking for? One that hadn’t even been reported yet?

The parking lot of the pizzeria was already wild with activity. The lights of several police cars were flashing, lighting the space, and thankfully their sirens weren’t on. A huge crowd of officers had already gathered, just as blurry-eyed and tired as the agents, and they looked relieved as they all climbed out of their cars. None of them approached them, but they looked relieved. 

“I’m guessing . . . . inside?” Morgan offered. 

Hotch was already nodding and pushing his way inside, leading the whole group. He was tense and determined, obviously set off by the newest kill, no matter what they were going to find. It was one thing for an unsub to take victims before they arrived, but the brash boldness of taking a victim—killing a victim—when they were investigating and in town never meant anything good. 

Even when they were inside, no officer greeted them or told them where to go. They didn’t need to. The string of activity and anxiety led them back through the pizzaria, through the staff-only doors, and to the breakroom. 

The tube lights hummed with electricity, washing everything in a stark white light. It didn’t look that bad when they had been here earlier, but now, it made everything look grim and pale. 

Especially the body that was sprawled at the base of the counter. A shattered coffee cup was next to it, spilling coffee across the floor, as if they had been caught in the middle of their break. The body itself wasn’t nearly as tidy. 

The skull, whether the front or the back no one could tell, was just a bloody mess of bone and gore. Whoever had done the killing had gone overboard. Even though the person had been clearly caught off guard and probably hadn’t even put up a fight, the unsub had been far too violent to make anyone comfortable. 

The team gathered around the body, just staring for a moment. It was Morgan who broke the silence again. 

“Are we still thinking a group?” It was a dry joke, and no one laughed. But no one was supposed to laugh. 

JJ was taking quick gulps of her coffee, probably to wake herself up and to just do something so she didn’t have to look at the body too much. Rossi was rubbing his jaw, picking apart the scene in a way only he could. And Reid was already crouched down, coffee held limp in his hand as if he had completely forgotten about it. 

“Let’s get pictures,” Hotch said, finally turning to the other officers and paramedics still bustling around them. “Get what information you can and we’ll head back to the station.” 

“One moment,” Reid said. He was somehow more awake than all of them. “I need to check something.” 

He pushed himself to his feet and was walking out of the room before anyone could say anything. The rest of the team exchanged looks before moving around the body, getting closer looks from different angles. They all studied the body quietly, stepping back when the photographer got there to let them do their work. 

“Any idea what Pretty Boy was up to?” Morgan asked. 

He didn’t even have to wait for an answer as Reid hurried back into the room. He looked more nervous than ever, fiddling with the lid of his coffee cup since he didn’t have anything better. 

“The suits are gone,” he said. “From the storage room. All of them.” 

Hotch swallowed sharply. “We need to get back to the station,” he said. “And give our profile.” 

By the time they got back to the station and gathered the appropriate officers and press and staff, it was later in the morning—7:30 instead of the crack of dawn. Everyone was on their third cup of coffee at the moment, and they had also raided the break room of the police office for bagels and donuts and just something to eat.

“We’ve brought in the employees that were working last night,” the chief officer said, stepping up to the group so he could whisper the information. 

Hotch nodded and then turned to address everyone who had gathered. It was a large group of reporters, even for it being so early in the morning. They all had their own mugs and to-go cups of coffee and looked just as exhausted as the team felt, but all looked eager in what was going to be said. Like they each wanted to be the first to report about the missing children. 

“We’re looking for a white male, in his late thirties,” Hotch started. “He’s lost his job at some point, most likely recently, probably because customers were complaining about his behavior, and we think he’s lashing out because of that job-loss.” 

“He used to work at the local pizzeria,” Morgan said. “He’s using a mascot suit in order to gain kids’ trust and lead them away from the group. With all of the birthday parties and general foot traffic, he’s counting on the chaos to keep everyone distracted while he does his dirty work.” 

“He’s been targeting kids from different age ranges, across genders, from all sorts of backgrounds,” JJ said next. “This shows that he doesn’t really care who he’s killing, only that he wants to kill.” 

“So you’re sure that he’s killed the children?” a reporter asked, shoving their way through the crowd to get their microphone closer. “Not just kidnapping them?”

JJ and Morgan exchanged a tense look. 

“We haven’t found any bodies yet,” he said tentatively. 

“But we do have the body of an employee,” Rossi said. “And the unsub didn’t spare much with his kill. There’s a lot of violence and a lot of blood.” He sighed grimly. “We’re hoping for the best, but we’re prepared for the worst.” 

The reporters surged forward, more questions than ever. They demanded to know about the families, wanted to talk with them instead of the officers. How many children had gone missing at this point? Had only the body of the employee been found? 

Reid stepped back to let Hotch and JJ deal with the media. He and Morgan and Rossi were much more comfortable behind the scenes. He intended on heading back to his room at the office, the one with the map and all the pictures of the victims and other evidence. He wanted to see everything laid out and organize his thoughts a little. He felt too rattled and shaky at the moment and wanted a moment to calm down. 

It was pure luck that he glanced up the moment that Vesta was led into the office. They looked so incredibly uncomfortable, wearing the same patch-covered pants and a heavy sweater that they pulled tight around themselves. They had their cane, like before, and seemed to be using it more than ever, going slower and forcing the officer to wait on them. 

And as much as Reid wanted to get all of his own thoughts in order, he was much more interested in hearing Vesta’s. 

“I’ll take it from here,” he said to the officer as he walked up. 

She just looked relieved, passing him the file and then hurrying away. 

Vesta just glared at him. 

Reid offered him a tight lipped smile, but Vesta didn’t look impressed. 

“Here,” Reid said. “This room is closest. Easier to walk to.” 

Vesta didn’t say anything, just walked into the room that Reid had pointed to. After a moment of hesitation, they pulled out the chair behind the table and sat down without being told to. 

And Reid took the seat across from them, wanting to make them as comfortable as possible. 

“Do you know why we brought you in?” he asked, figuring that was the best place to start if any.

Vesta knocked their cane against the legs of the table, rearranging it so that it leaned against their chair well within reach. They looked Reid up and down with an unimpressed look and finally shrugged. “No,” they said. “But I figure something happened. Someone die?” 

Reid didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of being right, but they were. He nodded. “We believe he was an employee at the pizzeria,” he said. “But the unsub made it . . . . pretty hard to identify him.” 

Vesta snorted. “It was probably the security guard,” they said. “That’s the only person in the place at that time. As far as I know, they do their rounds and make sure all the equipment is okay and safe and whatever.” 

Reid nodded. “Do you know of anyone who would be angry at the pizzeria? Someone who maybe lost their job and wanted to get revenge on the business.” 

Vesta shrugged and picked at the black nail polish on their fingers. 

“Vesta, please,” Reid said, leaning forward in his seat. “I know you don’t think we do a very good job of helping people—” 

“Someone’s dead,” Vesta interrupted with a sharp laugh. “How are you guys helping again?” 

“We’re trying to stop whoever is doing this,” Reid said. He tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible but it wasn’t often that he had someone that didn’t want to cooperate like Vesta did. “And we can stop him before anyone else gets hurt, but we need your help.” 

Vesta didn’t look impressed. “What can I even do?” they asked. “I already told you everything I know before. And if I’m not being detained, then I want to go home.” 

“I can detain you,” Reid said. He hated resorting to threats but he was getting more and more frustrated. “If that’s what it takes for you to cooperate.” 

Vesta narrowed their eyes and studied him for a moment, probably trying to judge how serious the threat was. They sniffed and leaned forward in their chair too, resting their elbows on the table. “You said you aren’t a cop?” they said. 

Reid tried not to let his excitement show. “No, um, not really. I have a badge but due to . . . . medical reasons, I never passed the final section of the exam.” 

“I guess if you hang around pigs so much you start smelling like them,” Vesta said and leaned back in their chair. “Look, I get it. You love sitting on your high horse and claiming that you’re helping people and then just bullying people into saying what you want by detaining them.” They gestured to their own chest. 

Reid sighed and realized that the argument had been lost. “I’m sorry for bothering you then,” he said. He gathered up the file and pushed his chair back. “We’re just trying to find the person who’s been doing all of this.” 

He pushed himself to his feet, and Vesta followed suit, having to lean on their can for a moment before they got their legs underneath them. They waited for Reid to open the door before walking out. Reid let them go through before shutting the door behind him. 

The rest of the team were finished with the press conference and were still gathered around the podium, talking with each other. When Hotch spotted Reid he immediately stepped away. 

“You talked with Vesta?” he asked. “Did they tell you anything? The profile says that it’s an ex-employee, but Garcia couldn’t find anything in their databases in the past several months. Talking with current employees seems like a good lead.” 

“Past months?” Vesta interrupted before Reid could answer. They had stopped to grab a donut and had caught their conversation. 

And then they looked embarrassed that they cared. They tapped their cane against the desk and then looked to the side. “The pizzeria relies on college students and summer workers. We haven’t had steady employees for years. And I thought cops were supposed to be smart.” They took a bite out of the donut they had chosen and then walked out of the office. 

“As you can see,” Reid said, turning back to Hotch. “They aren't as cooperative as I hoped.”

“Haven’t had steady employees for years,” Hotch muttered to himself. His eyes suddenly went wide and he pulled out his phone, fumbling to type in the password and then dialing quickly. “Garcia!” 

“You’re green for go, sir!” Garcia said, picking up after a single ring. 

“When you looked into employee records, you only went back several months, right?” Hotch asked. 

Garcia was already typing, probably doing the exact same search that she had done before. “Of course, sir,” she said. “Nothing came up. It’s still zero. I’m sorry but I’ve just got nothing.” 

“The pizzeria has high schoolers and college students on staff,” Hotch explained. He waved at the rest of the team, already hurrying out the front doors. “They rely on a quick turnover with their employees, so of course there isn’t going to be anything in the last months. Maybe not even the last year.” 

Garcia’s fingers were flying as she typed. 

The team was exchanging confused looks but knew better to question Hotch, especially when he was a dog that had caught the scent. 

“Go back _years_ , Garcia,” Hotch said. He paused to toss keys to Morgan and JJ, motioning for them to get in their cruises before climbing behind the wheel of his own. “Look for an employee that would be bitter enough to hold a grudge. There’s got to be something.” 

“I’m looking, I’m looking, I promise,” Garcia said. She was still typing. “There’s just nothing coming up. Every employee left on good terms, and those who were fired moved on and are working at other places. They don’t fit the profile.” 

“Keep going,” Hotch urged. He pulled out the parking lot in the lead. He didn’t know where he was going just yet but he knew Garcia was going to find something. He just _knew it._

“I’m looking, sir!” Garcia said, her voice squeaking up an octave the more panicked she got. “But that pizza place is squeaky clean, which is saying a lot because their floors almost never are.” 

“Garcia,” Hotch said. He was almost pleading now. 

“I wish I could, sir,” Garcia said. “But there really isn’t . . . . _oh_!” 

“What is it?” Hotch asked. 

“I had to go back several years, sir,” Garcia said. “You weren’t kidding about that. But I think I might have found our guy. William Afton, late thirties. He used to work at the pizzeria as part of the entertainment crew. No wait, no, he actually helped _start_ this branch. He and others would wear the suits and perform for the children during the birthday parties—oh, until everything was—” 

“Everything was replaced with robotics,” Reid finished for her. “And that made him mad enough to want revenge even after all this time.” 

Garcia was still typing. 

“Not only that, but Afton was the one who originally developed the robots for the suits,” she said. “He was fired shortly after he completed it. If that doesn’t reek of a motive, I don’t know what does.” 

“Garcia, you’re amazing,” Hotch said. 

“Don’t I know it, sir,” Garcia said with a confident smile and shrug. “And if you’re looking even more of a trigger, just last month the company announced that they were going to be expanding with a sister location, using his robotics and code to develop even more mascots.” 

“Stealing his work, firing him, and then claiming it as their own,” Reid mused. “And with the chance that the company could make even more money off him without giving him credit was just too much.” 

Now that Garcia had a name and a face, she could find so much more information. Who knows what she was pulling up at the moment, breaking through every firewall password-protected page. 

“Oh definitely, boy wonder,” Garcia said. “His employment page says he was great with kids but not the parents. He got into a couple arguments, had a couple complaints filed against him by mom and dad, and when things went hydraulic they let him go, no questions asked.” 

“Where is he now?” Hotch asked. “Garcia, do you have an address?” 

“Current home address is already on your phones!” Garcia said. “Please hurry, sir!” 

Hotch hung up before he could promise anything, turning on his sirens and pressing the gas down harder. And the other cruisers all fell in behind him, putting on their sirens and lights to help clear the way. 

The address was across town, not even close to their geographical profile. Still, when they pulled into the driveway and the curtains of one of the windows pulled back for a moment before flipping back closed, they figured they had to be onto something. 

“Don’t let your guard down,” Hotch said as they all climbed out of their cars, all of them already reaching for their weapons. 

Hotch approached the front door first, motioning for the others to stay back as he knocked. “William?” he called when he didn’t get an immediate answer. “William Afton, this is the FBI. We have a couple questions that we’re hoping you can answer.” 

Still no response, and when Hotch knocked again, the door unlatched with a broken click and creaked open. Hotch exchanged a worried look with the rest of the team before drawing his gun and pushing into the house. 

The inside was dark, with the curtains drawn and blacked out. Even though it was early morning, the house was dark and dingy. From the front door, they could see into the living room off to the left, a small dining area and kitchen above that, and a staircase that led up to a second floor immediately in front of them. The space wasn’t particularly dirty, but it smelled like the doors and windows hadn’t been opened in ages. The air was stale and still, and everything smelled just a little musty. 

“Hotch,” Morgan said, creeping into the living room and, after making sure the coast was clear, lowering his gun enough to grab the pile of fabric draped on the couch. 

He held up the bulky mask of a golden bear. It was obviously from the pizzeria, made in the same style with large friendly eyes, a squishable nose, and a big smile. It was dirtier than the costumes back at the pizzeria, obviously—those ones were regularly cleaned and this one wasn’t. Still, it was obvious that it had been designed to be a bear, like the one that sang on stage currently at the pizzeria, except golden and bigger and bulkier.

“The strange animal that lures away children,” Morgan said, tossing the head aside with disgust.

“But where is Afton?” Hotch asked no one in particular. “JJ and Rossi, you take the upstairs. Reid and Morgan, out back. I'm going to clear the first floor.” 

The team split up accordingly, following Hotch’s instructions as they spread throughout the house. 

JJ and Rossi crept up the stairs as slowly as possible, Rossie taking the lead until they reached the hallway at the top. They only had to exchange a look and a nod before JJ went left and Rossi went right, sweeping the rooms as they went to make sure that they were alone. Or weren’t alone. Neither of them really knew which option they wanted. 

It was JJ who found the room at the far end of the hallway—a gutted bedroom that had been refurbished into a sort of storage-office area.

“Rossi,” she called back over her shoulder, not daring to look away from the scene, as if she was scared it would disappear if she did. 

“Coming,” Rossi called back, just to give her a response. He cleared his end of the hallway, making sure nothing was out of place before hurrying to join her. 

“I guess we know where the stolen suits ended up,” JJ muttered. 

She stepped further into the room, skirting the edge to keep her distance from the scene so that she didn’t disturb any evidence. 

The extra suits of the original animals on stage were draped across the room, propped up in corners or walls or chairs. They were limp and missing their stiff metal skeletons that would keep them upright, but that wasn’t what was abnormal or what had caught JJ’s attention. 

They were missing sections of their arms and legs, the gloves of their paws and the boots of the costumes scattered across the floor. Heads had been swapped in one case—the fox’s snout on top of the chicken’s body. All of the mismatched pieces and gaps in the suits let them see the small bodies that had been stuffed inside. Jeremy, Fritz, Cassidy, and Gabriel were all immediately recognizable, but there was a fourth child that neither of them could identify immediately.

JJ covered her nose, gagging at the smell of one of the bodies in particular. It was the oldest one, Cassidy Shepphard. Her blonde hair was limp and greasy, the strands messy from the mask of the suit being put on and removed so many times. Rot hadn’t set in, obviously—it was a little too soon for that—but she was bloated and smelling. 

The other bodies weren’t as bad, but it was still a grim scene. 

“Hotch isn’t going to like this,” Rossi said. 

“Neither are the families,” JJ said, crouching down and delicately taking one of the arms of the costumes, holding the hand of the bear and Gabriel at the same time. Her mouth was set in a grim line. “Neither are the families.” 

Downstairs, also clearing the rooms, Hotch was having some of the same luck. The bedrooms were all plain and uninteresting and, more importantly, empty. He swept through them all as methodically as he was supposed to, making sure everything was safe before returning to the living room.

He paused at the suit of the golden bear, taking a moment to look it over where Morgan had left it. He nudged it open with the tip of his gun, not wanting to touch it without gloves. 

It was obvious that Afton had used it at some point. The gloves and sleeves were splattered in blood, and to add to the animalistic look of the whole suit, larger splotches of blood had ended up around the whole mouth too. The eyes looked empty and vacant, and Hotch could easily imagine it hunched over a child, offering a friendly hand and a friendly smile, promising candy and fun times if the child came with it. 

He shuddered to think of Jack going to a pizza party like that, entranced by the animals and costumes and not even questioning it when one of the animals offered to take him backstage. While the method was cruel and twisted, Hotch could easily see how effective it would be. 

He dropped the rest of the suit and tried to brush it out of his mind. He made a note to talk about it with Jack later, once they were home, but for now, he turned to join Morgan and Reid in the backyard. 

Since the house was built on the edge of the neighborhood, not only was there a distance between it and the neighbors’ but the backyard grass slowly faded into longer weeds before meeting the treeline and morphing into undergrowth. A tool shed was off to one side, the doors already open where Morgan had probably started his search. 

At the moment though, both Morgan and Reid were following a trail of crushed plants and hurried footprints back into the forest. Morgan led the way, gun out and ready. Reid was behind him, gun also in his hands but definitely less sure than Morgan was. 

The forest was thin and easy to navigate, so they both got a good view of the frantic hunched form of Afton far before they were close enough to engage. 

He was on his knees in the mud, scraping madly at the dirt, breathing frantically as he tried to dig a hole. Thin wire-frame glasses were skewed on his nose, almost falling off. He didn’t seem to care nor did he have the time to fix them. 

As Morgan and Reid got closer, they immediately saw why. 

A body was sprawled carelessly in the dirt next to him, bloody and mangled in a show of violence that only rivaled the death of the security guard. It was much older than the other victims by smell alone. It was starting to rot and were missing fingers and chunks of flesh, and flies buzzed around them and Afton, like they knew it was him who had given them the meal. 

“William Afton!” Morgan barked, running forward to close the distance between them but circling warily since they had no idea how dangerous he was or even if he was armed. “Drop the shovel and put your hands in the air!” 

To both Morgan’s and Reid’s surprise, Afton obeyed immediately. 

He was shaking almost uncontrollably, full body spasms as he threw the shovel aside and immediately put his hands up. He was sobbing too, snot and tears streaming down his face and leaving tracks in the dirt on his cheeks. He took deep heaving breaths but stayed on his knees. 

“I’m sorry!!” he yelled. He was crying so hard that he had to force out the words in between his sobs, almost intelligible at that point. “You don’t understand! They fired me! _Me_! I’m the whole reason they are—are even able to be in business!” 

“Reid, grab the shovel,” Morgan said, keeping his gun trained on the back of Afton, right between his shoulders. 

Reid tucked his gun back into his holster, darting forward just enough to snatch the shovel away, tossing it so that Afton had no chance of grabbing it and using it against them. “Do you have any weapons on you?” he said, keeping his tone curt and sharp so that Afton knew he meant business.

“No-o-o-o,” Afton said, choking out the word around his sobs. “You don’t understand though. They were going to fire-e-e me. I made the entire company and they were going-g-g-g to just kick me out. It was _my_ robotics. _My work_.”

His tone turned suddenly spiteful and angry, and he bared his teeth at Reid as Morgan grabbed his hands and cuffed his wrists behind his back. He suddenly wasn’t crying anymore, just shaking with barely controlled rage as Morgan dragged him to his feet to pat him down properly for weapons.

“They were just going to use my work and fire me and take all the credit,” he spat, growling like an animal as Morgan finished his search and began walking him back towards the house. “I couldn’t let them do that! So I ruined their reputation! Try having a pizzeria now, when everyone is terrified of your mascots. It’ll be impossible!” 

Reid let them walk away, crouching next to the body. He pulled gloves out of his pocket and pulled them on so he could maneuver the limbs and try to identify the children. It was another, sadly, and they didn’t look anything like the pictures from the ones who had been reported missing. That meant Afton had another victim that they didn’t even know about. 

It turned his stomach. 

He could hear more sirens at the house now, as Garcia probably contacted the office and sent support their way. Reid would direct them back into the woods to let them tape off the area and gather the evidence. He pushed himself to his feet and followed Morgan. 

The entire team met briefly in the living room, off to one side so that an evidence team could collect the suit of the golden bear and seal it in a bag to be tested and examined properly. They told each other about what they had found, congratulated Morgan on the arrest, and then made their way grimly out to the cruises, letting the rest of the officers deal with the scene while they drove Afton back to the station.

Afton didn’t put up a fight as they led him into the station to process him, but the families were there, sobbing when they saw him but not their children. JJ and Hotch and Rossi split off to comfort them and at least reassure them that they had found remains, even if that wasn’t as comforting as good news would have been. 

Morgan stayed with Afton, intent on making sure he got behind bars. 

Reid didn’t feel comfortable staying with the families but when he spotted Vesta off to one side of the station, getting questioned by another officer, he turned in that direction. He walked up just as the officer was assuring them that they didn’t have any other questions and was walking away. Vesta didn’t look impressed to see Reid. 

“So,” they said, leaning heavy on their can since they hadn’t been offered a seat apparently. “You caught him.” 

Reid nodded. “We did,” he said. He didn’t want to be prideful. In fact, them finding new victims that they didn’t even know about wasn’t a reason to be proud of. Honestly, not that he was face-to-face with Vesta, he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say anymore. 

“I bet you feel great about yourselves,” Vesta said with a sarcastic smile. “So congratulations. You changed the world.” 

Reid didn’t feel like he had changed the world and he didn’t like Vesta’s tone.

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Vesta said before Reid could even gather his thoughts more than that. They tapped their can a bit impatiently and then awkwardly backed towards the door.

“Wait,” Reid said. He wanted to talk with Vesta a bit more. He had never met a person like them, and it felt weird not to have someone be thankful, especially after an arrest as big as Afton’s was. 

Vesta looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “Am I being detained?” they asked, like it was a script that they had memorized. “Am I legally allowed to leave?” 

“No, you aren’t,” Reid said reluctantly. “And . . . yes, you are.” 

“I have a shift tomorrow,” Vesta said. “You know the capitalism machine.” 

Reid didn’t, but Vesta wasn’t waiting for him anymore. They turned completely and walked out the door, gone before Reid could even think of something to say. He felt like the arrest hadn’t even meant anything, and it took him a moment to shake off the feeling and return to the team.

From there, there was a flurry of paperwork and chaos. The local officers took over mostly, now that the brunt of the work had been done. The families were reassured a little more and then even that was taken over by other officers. The team gathered their supplies and said goodbye one last time before heading to the plane station to head back to their headquarters. 

They were quiet and tired, like always, each of them processing what they had seen and experienced in their own way. They cradled cups of tea or coffee, headphones on, sleep masks over their eyes, shutting out the world in an effort to get a little rest. It was probably why Morgan was the only one who noticed the way Reid was chewing at his fingernails, snapping chess pieces down harder than normal as he played a nervous, stiff game against himself.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours, pretty boy?” he said, easing himself down in the seat across from Reid, holding his own cup of tea.

“I’m just thinking about Vesta,” Reid said, mumbling around his fist as he used it to prop up his chin. He didn’t look up from his game, only moved another piece and reset the timer.

“What do you mean?” Morgan asked. He let Reid play, knowing that he just had to pull him out of his own thoughts to help him relax a bit.

“I’ve heard about people like them,” Reid said, making another move and resetting the timer. “Radicalized. I didn’t think they would have so much . . . dislike for us. It was strange. Even after the arrest, they still didn’t seem to appreciate what was being done.” 

“You can’t win them all, kid,” Morgan said, reaching across the table to pat Reid on the shoulder. “Don’t let it bother you too much.” 

“Yes, I understand that,” Reid said. He looked up from his game for the first time. “But now I can’t stop thinking about it. Did we help anyone? I know we arrested him, but did we even help anyone?” 

“Of course we did,” Morgan said quickly. “What are you even talking about?” 

Reid shrugged off his hand, going back to his game, making three moves in quick succession, taking out multiple pieces and swiping them almost violently off the board. 

“Every victim ended up dead,” Reid said, talking fast and manic, knowing that he was spouting facts and numbers in an effort to understand feelings. “Every child. There were even two victims that we didn’t even know about. Also children. We didn’t save any of them. And who’s to say that Afton was going to continue killing after them? Maybe he would have stopped?” 

“Maybe he wouldn’t have,” Morgan interrupted. 

Reid shook his head. “No, we don’t know that. All we have are the four victims. Six if you count the two we didn’t even know about. And they all ended up dead. We didn’t save them, we didn’t help the families. The most we gave them was closure, and that doesn’t mean much, not when we could’ve saved their _child_.” 

“Kid,” Morgan said, placing his hand on his shoulder again. “Slow down. You’re getting in your own head.” 

“I’m just trying to figure out if we did anything good at the end of the day,” Reid said finally, slumping in his chair. He stared at the chess board for a moment and then took white’s queen, resetting the clock for a last time before dropping his face into his hands. 

“I guess we’ll never know,” Morgan admitted softly. “Hey, I’ll make you some tea.” 

He pushed himself up, leaving Reid to his finished chess game as he walked to the back of the plane where the drink station was. The rest of the team was quiet, some asleep and some not. All of them were tense though, as if they were thinking the same thing as Reid, worrying about the same questions. 

_Had they done anything good? Had they really helped anyone?_

At least Afton was finally behind bars, and that was the only solace they had.

**Author's Note:**

> “The question to ask about the writer isn’t ‘Why does he behave so badly?’ but ‘What does he gain by wearing this mask?’”  
> \- Philip Roth
> 
> ****
> 
> hey i'm on tumblr @manuscript-or


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